


Have I Got A Present For You

by prosodiical



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Civil War Team Iron Man, Dom/sub Undertones, Gift Giving, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony makes gifts for T'Challa. Every time he sees them again, they've been taken apart and remade even better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have I Got A Present For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngeNoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/gifts).



> I loved your letter, and I hope you like this!

Tony slips out of bed in the early hours of the morning, tugging on his pants as he checks his phone for updates. He's tying his tie and sidling over to check it in the mirror when he sees T'Challa's reflection in the glass, propped up on one elbow and watching him.

"You don't need to leave," T'Challa says, neutrally, and Tony pastes on a smile and shrugs.

"As much as I'd love to," he says, "I have a plane to catch. And even though it belongs to me and technically shouldn't leave without me, I've tried pushing it before - "

T'Challa's stepped out of the bed, and as Tony turns toward him he gets a full view of his graceful stride, his unabashed nakedness. Tony swallows as T'Challa's hands rise to his tie, gently taking control as Tony's hands fall to his sides. "Your work lays demands on you. I understand."

And the worst part is, he does. Tony's not even a CEO anymore, his legacy in Pepper's capable hands, and though he's technically the leader of the Avengers it's not as though they have much to do; his time is just stuck in useless meetings and paperwork and fielding justifications for every response. T'Challa has a whole country under his rule, and yet somehow he has everything under control while Tony's struggling to keep afloat.

Tony manages a smile, tilting wry when T'Challa tightens his tie and lifts his chin with a strong, steady hand. "I will see you soon," T'Challa says, and Tony lets his eyelids flutter closed as T'Challa leans forward, bringing their foreheads together.

"Yeah," Tony says, "the UN thing, next week." He grins when he opens his eyes again, and makes to step away; T'Challa holds him for a second longer, but then lets him go. "Catch you later, kitty cat."

T'Challa's turned to his own work, Wakandan technology that makes Tony's mouth water and it makes Tony feel a little less self-conscious as his hands still over the package at the top of his bag. It's stupid, he thinks, and it hardly meshes well with what he's always telling himself: _don't get attached_. But Tony can justify it in a roundabout way, something having a purpose, something being useful, and he represses a sigh and picks it up, tossing it at T'Challa who catches it without even looking up. "Something for the road, honey," Tony says, as unconcerned as he can manage. "Or outside Wakanda, at least."

"A phone," T'Challa says, tone curious, as he looks up from the box, turning the new StarkPhone in his hands.

"Hooked to Stark satellites," Tony says, "I don't think your telecoms have a deal with us yet." He shrugs, hefts his bag, and takes a few steps toward the door. "You know. Anyway, I have a plane to catch."

T'Challa looks all-too-thoughtful when he says, "Thank you, Tony," and Tony flees out the door.

 

* * *

 

The thing is, it isn't as though Wakandan technology is necessarily more advanced than Tony's own internal tech, but it's taken an entirely different path of development. Some of it, Tony knows, is thanks to their ready and easy access to vibranium - the rest, probably good scientific funding for generations. Still, it's one thing to realize they're practically on his level and another to see the beautiful, functional device that might once have been Tony's phone when he spots T'Challa talking on it outside.

"Mr. Stark," T'Challa greets him once they're both inside, shaking his hand. "It's good to see you again."

"It's always a pleasure, Your Highness." Tony leans forward to flutter his eyelashes and give him a sly grin that makes T'Challa's mouth twitch. Gesturing to T'Challa's hand, Tony adds, "Refurbished already?"

T'Challa pulls out his phone, and Tony can, at least, see what used to be his technology: the glass is similar, though now with a light silvery sheen, when he flicks it up the holograms are still patented-Stark, though modified to greater opacity, and the operating system has, he doesn't really want to admit, been overhauled and streamlined to perfection. "Vibranium in the glass?" Tony asks, and T'Challa inclines his head.

"Some of our scientists have been working on incorporating it into other ceramics," T'Challa says. "It was an interesting challenge."

"Please tell me you kept FRIDAY," Tony says somewhat wryly, and T'Challa's expression lightens.

"Indeed," he says, with some enthusiasm. "A fully-functioning, full-personality AI is quite an accomplishment. The amount of learning involved - you set her up as a separate instance of your current version, yes?"

Tony can feel the smile on his face. "Yeah, secure private servers, the works. She's not quite as complete as JARVIS was, before, but having done it once before, it's easier the second time." And the third, and fourth, and fifth, but Tony only brings out his drawer-AIs when he's feeling melancholy, walking them through the patterns of speech and humanity, and they've still barely started learning. But if it's AIs that T'Challa likes... he feels a twinge of self-conscious reproach at the discreet bracelet sitting in a small box inside his briefcase, but it's probably too late to go back.

Tony turns the phone around in his hands one more time before he hands it back, says, "I could take some design cues, I guess," and T'Challa's expression softens slightly; the line of his mouth, the corners of his eyes.

"There is no need," T'Challa starts, but whatever he was going to say lost in the sudden bustle to seats, the meeting time approaching, and Tony gives him a largely sardonic wave and a wry grin as they leave. Tony has a report to present, funding to argue for, and once he's made his case he sits down with a sigh and takes a gulp of water, meeting T'Challa's gaze over the rim of the glass. T'Challa looks thoughtful and gives Tony a nod when their eyes meet, and Tony figures he did well enough.

"We'll consider your proposal, Mr. Stark," the chair says, and moves the meeting onward.

It's two hours later when there's a break, one where Tony can finally duck out. He stops by T'Challa standing by the window, watching the flow of people outside, and says, "Tired already, Your Pantherness?"

T'Challa glances at him. "No," he says, "only memories." He returns to looking out the window, at the trees fading into fall. "I cannot believe all I have done is in tribute to my father's legacy. After his death..."

"Hey," Tony says, "I am literally the worst person at making rational decisions under stress. Compared to me? You did fine."

"Did I?" T'Challa turns to face him, and Tony doesn't know what he sees in his face but it makes T'Challa's mouth twitch into a smile. "Perhaps. Our work on the Accords, at least."

Tony's smile is tight but genuine. "It was a good idea - it still is," he says, and coughs. "I have, uh," and he rummages in his bag just for show, tries to hide his wince as T'Challa peers inside.

"Another gift?"

"Just something small," Tony says quickly, but he's heartened by T'Challa's ready smile as he hands it over. "I know you've got your super-Panther costume, but in case you're caught out somewhere - "

"It is prudent," T'Challa says, and Tony tries to look anywhere else as he shrugs.

"I'm sure you could do better," he says, "but for the moment, anyway."

"Regardless," T'Challa says, slipping on the bracelet, "thank you."

Tony says, "Yeah, well, I have a board meeting to get to, so ciao - "

He's stopped by T'Challa's fingers curled around his wrist, deceptively strong. "I have business in the States in two weeks. Will I see you then?"

Tony stares at him, a little startled, and says, "Of course," before T'Challa lets him go.

 

* * *

 

Putting the last touches on a new tablet has Tony thinking about it again, T'Challa's hand around his wrist, his small, knowing smile. "Stupid," Tony says to himself, smiling as Dummy comes over as if he's been called. "No, not you, sheesh, haven't you learned your name yet?"

Dummy makes a sound, drops his arm in an approximation of a puppy's ears drooping, and Tony reaches out to put an SI baseball cap on his topmost joint. "You," Tony says, "are going to be on your best behavior, or it's community college for you," and Dummy spins in a tight circle as Tony slides the last of the software into place. There are so many things he doesn't have that it feels useless trying to give anything away, knowing it will be torn apart and built again only better, and Tony puts his head in his hands and says, "AI, huh?"

"Sir?" FRIDAY says. "Would you like me to activate another AI?"

"No time," Tony says, and looks at the schematic out in front of him. He knows it'll take less than an hour to manufacture, but he's unsatisfied; T'Challa will take it, and smile, and say thank you once again but Tony wants more than just polite acknowledgement, and he fiddles with a screwdriver in thought. "You've got the place ready, right?"

"Assembly functions have been prepared, sir," FRIDAY says agreeably, and Tony makes a face and sighs.

"I'm being ridiculous, aren't I? I'm being ridiculous," but it doesn't stop Tony from fiddling with everything until he has to have FRIDAY start manufacturing, doesn't stop Tony from restlessly re-engineering the Iron Man armor, just in case. He has some sense of Wakandan design by now, he thinks, but he still -

"Your guest is here, sir," FRIDAY announces, as T'Challa steps into the room, and Tony spins on his chair and tries to shove everything aside.

"Kitty cat!" Tony exclaims. "I wasn't expecting you so - soon?"

"I am on time," T'Challa informs him, a slight smile on his face as he looks around. "This is your workshop?"

"Yeah," Tony says, as Dummy wheels up to T'Challa curiously, bumping into his perfectly-shined shoes. "Ignore him, he's an idiot, Dummy, get back here - "

T'Challa's plucked the cap from Dummy's head, kneeling to examine his body. "He's quite old," he remarks, and Tony rubs a hand over his face and sighs.

"Yeah, first robot - and AI - I ever built, drunk off my ass at like, seventeen. He means well, but he's pretty stupid all-up - Dummy, stop bothering the guy, remember what I said about community college?"

Dummy swivels a little, droops his arm, and wheels back a step as T'Challa rises to his feet and smiles. "Quite an achievement," he says. "You've been working on the evolution of artificial intelligence."

Tony waggles a hand 'maybe'. "I'm not looking to go any further," he says, "tried that, everyone suffered my fucking consequences." T'Challa inclines his head, and Tony drops his gaze. "JARVIS's level is as far as I'll ever go."

"But that was also due to external forces," T'Challa says, and Tony raises his eyebrows at him as he steps closer. Tony can wear a suit (almost) as well as him, but now in a battered singlet and jeans next to T'Challa's neat three-piece, he feels woefully underdressed. "You should not give up on your goals simply because of a setback."

"Some kind of setback," Tony says, but he shrugs. "I'm not at loose ends, you know. Marketable tech is the cool new thing."

"You can do better," T'Challa says. "You should."

Tony looks at him, at the vibranium-refitted bracelet sliding down his wrist, at the adjusted-to-perfection phone not even ruining the lines of his suit, and shakes his head. "I," he says, and "it's stupid. I'll just stop giving you shit to just pass off to your engineers to redesign, I know it's a - "

T'Challa catches his wrist, raised to sweep his work away, and Tony raises his eyebrows, finishes, "waste."

"It is no waste," T'Challa says, quiet but intent, fingers tightening on his wrist for a moment before he pulls away. "I greatly appreciate your gifts."

"Then why," Tony says, and T'Challa follows his gaze down to the bracelet around his own wrist, then suddenly shakes his head, huffing a laugh.

"Your gifts, as I've said, are appreciated," T'Challa says. "I said it was a challenge, and it's been an interesting personal one. Incorporating my own technology - Wakandan technology - into your designs is no simple task."

"You," Tony says, huffily even as he's starting to smile a little despite himself, "are a physicist, not a goddamn engineer."

"I," T'Challa says with all due seriousness, "have many hidden depths, Tony Stark." He steps forward, and again; enough to get Tony's chair rolling back until it hits against the bench, T'Challa's legs against Tony's knees and him, looming down. "As you should well know."

"Dressing up in a kinky panther suit," Tony says, "does not count as hidden depths, Your Highness," but he doesn't finish his sentence, words stolen from his lungs as T'Challa knocks the chair out from under him, pressing Tony back into the workshop bench faster than Tony can breathe. "Your reflexes," Tony manages, "are absurd."

"Hidden depths," T'Challa all-but-purrs, his hand tightening on the nape of Tony's neck and Tony exhales shakily, eyelids fluttering closed as T'Challa leans in. His teeth rest gently on Tony's neck, right by the pulse point thudding wildly and Tony is sure he can hear it, can feel the flush of blood on his face and heading further south, as T'Challa pulls back with a satisfied smile. "I have no need for gifts from you," T'Challa says, "but if you are so inclined..."

Tony feels parched for it, desperate; he wants to pull T'Challa down by his tie and kiss him until he's lost some of that steely composure, until he, too, looks like Tony always feels when they do this: almost surprised. Instead he leans back, ignoring the edge of the table digging into his spine. "You can have the gift of me any day, kitty cat," he says, fluttering his eyelashes, just to see the amusement creep into T'Challa's smile.

"Perhaps a collaboration," T'Challa says slyly, and Tony huffs a laugh as T'Challa presses the edge of his smile into the curve of Tony's jaw. "What do you say, Mr. Stark?"

"I'll have to have my lawyers look over it," Tony says, "but I think we have a deal, Your Pantherness."

"As your business partner," T'Challa murmurs, fingers tightening in Tony's hair, "I must demand greater respect."

"As my business partner, or my 'business partner'?" Tony's finger-quotes are foiled by T'Challa's grab for his wrists, the instantaneous show of strength making his legs feel slightly weak, the spark of arousal fading into something tight and warm. Or it could be T'Challa, heated like a furnace, teeth closing warningly around the tip of Tony's ear. "Uh - I mean - "

"You mean?" T'Challa says, pulling back, eyes dark in the scattered light.

"There's a couch," Tony says, "much better than workshop benches, or so I've been told - "

T'Challa says, "Well," and steps back, letting Tony go. Tony, breathless, sinks against the bench and tracks him, stepping over debris in the room as he discards his jacket on Tony's swivel chair, his vest and tie on the arm of the couch. "Don't we have a collaboration to discuss?"

Tony walks toward him as T'Challa sprawls as if he owns it; he could, Tony knows, and it brings a smile to his face as he steps up and straddles T'Challa's lap. "What, that wasn't an innuendo?"

"It wasn't only an innuendo," T'Challa says gravely, but Tony can see the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. "I do enjoy working with you."

Tony pulls back an inch, just to see his expression soften, the edge of it almost gentle. Tony thinks: _oh_ , and there must be something in his face because T'Challa's eyebrows start to furrow in confusion, his mouth opening in question, and Tony takes the opportunity to lean forward and catch it with his own. "I," Tony starts, but he can't think of anything: too saccharine, too serious. "I was always told never to mix business with pleasure."

T'Challa shakes his head, smiling, and he hooks Tony's leg with his own, flips them and pressing Tony down into the cushions, hands digging bruises into Tony's hips. "Perhaps," T'Challa rumbles, his voice so low Tony can feel it through his chest, "you simply did not have the right partner."

"For which?" Tony says, fingers on the buttons of T'Challa's shirt, and glances up at his face when T'Challa's hand comes to cover his own.

T'Challa's expression is entirely opaque. "Either," he says, "both."

"You - " Tony protests, but the words are stolen from his throat, his breath from his lungs, and when later he slides off the couch to sketch out the technology in his dreams there's nobody there but T'Challa, stretching awake as he picks himself up to leave. Tony says, absent, "No peeking," and T'Challa leans down, stealing a kiss.

"I will see you later," he says, and Tony waves him off; this gift, he's sure, will be the best one yet.


End file.
